Mud and Mosquitoes and Melanoma
by SakiSaki
Summary: “I can’t believe we’re lost at sea… in a lake!” Spittery, modern day slash. For Signpost's A Day in the Sun challenge.


Tall, majestic mountains. A wide, still lake reflecting a bright blue sky. Pine trees, fresh air, good times.

"Can we go home now?" Andrew asked bitterly, tugging on his life jacket. The vest was bulky and awkward, but it was better than conceivably drowning. The imagined sensation of his lungs filling up with dirty lake water overrode all feeling of male pride, and he pulled it on with a few muttered curse words.

Spencer glanced up from the fishing rod he was untangling and let out a brief, sudden laugh. "Why do ya got that thing on? The lake ain't that deep."

"Just because you've got glasses doesn't mean you're blind, Spence." Andrew motioned to the rowboat bumping innocently against the dirt beach beside them. "That thing doesn't exactly look sea-worthy, now does it?"

"Nadine's a good boat," Spencer said, returning his focus to the fishing line.

"I fail to see how that piece of crap is a 'good boat'." Andrew rubbed his hands through his unruly mop of brown hair, but as it insisted on looking perpetually ruffled he soon gave up smoothing it. "We'd be better off in a tin can, for God's sake."

"I'm so glad you came," Spencer muttered. He plopped a baseball cap on top of his friend's head that featured a grinning fish with the words 'Don't Worry, Be Happy' over it. "There, that'll take care of your hair."

"Shuddup about my hair."

"Really, you could borrow my gel sometime." He put a hat on his own head, this one with the New York Yankees insignia on it, and adjusted the visor to block the sun from his eyes. "Or a comb, which I've never seen you use."

Andrew scowled and twisted the cap around backwards, so that his bangs fell in tufts against his forehead. He swatted a mosquito on his arm. The bugs and the smartass comments were grating on his last nerve. "Real men don't use hair products. That crap is for queers, women and metalheads."

Spencer rolled his eyes and shoved a cooler into Andrew's arms.

"Spence, seriously, there's not even a breeze or anything," he continued, switching tactics. "We'll get stranded out there – that's a pretty big fuckin' lake."

"We're going in a rowboat, Andy, not a sailboat. We don't need any wind, just two strong arms. Fortunately, I happen to have those." Spencer flashed a smile and flexed one arm. Andrew looked away, wondering why such a small gesture would embarrass him. He focused his attention on the bundle in his arms.

"What's this?"

"That's lunch, make sure you don't lose it."

"All this is going in the boat? We're gonna sink to the bottom of the lake!" Andrew tapped his foot anxiously, his flip-flop slapping against the mud. SWAPsquishSWAPsquishSWAP…

"What's the matter? You're all ski—"

"Skittery, right?" Andrew demanded. "That's how you always say I'm acting. 'Gee, Andy, you're awfully _skittery_ today, what's up?'"

"Skittery ain't a word, dumbass. It's skittish. I say you're skittish because you _do_ act that way all the time. You're always antsy and complaining about something – you should lighten up." He packed the ice down firmly in another cooler and snorted. "Skittery. Huh. Almost sounds like a word, actually."

"Yeah, well. What's that second cooler for?"

"For the fish we catch. Or the fish I hope we'll catch… don't want them to rot in the sun."

"Where'd you get ice, anyway?" Andrew asked, raising an eyebrow. "I haven't had a cold drink since before we got here. You been holding out?" Spencer closed the cooler and passed it to him.

"Drove into town early this morning, when you guys were all still sleeping. Bought some ice and some nightcrawlers." He opened a paper bag filled with dirt and worms. Andrew made a face and backed off.

"You actually _paid money_ for worms? The ground here is crawlin' with them, damn." He sighed and looked around moodily. "Bugs, rickety old boats, the hot sun, and stinkin' fish. Can this trip get any better?"

Spencer smirked. "Nervous, are we?"

"Nervous? Me?" he asked, incredulous. "I'm just pissed I have to get in that rust bucket. Fishing's so stupid." He put the coolers in the back of the boat, the wet dirt of the beach sticking to his sandaled feet. "Ugh, this is disgusting!"

"Why didn't you wear sneakers?"

"My sneakers are drying at the campsite, because of all the rain yesterday!" Andrew wailed. "God, I hate the outdoors. Mud and mosquitoes and melanoma—"

Spencer tossed his backpack and the two now-untangled fishing rods into the boat. "Wow. I'm so glad you came."

"Stop saying that! You asked me to come, dammit!"

"Only because Dani didn't feel good this morning," Spence grumbled.

That hurt. Andrew tried to ignore the small, stabbing feeling in his chest, and wiped the mud off his ankles. "Well, I'm so sorry you and _Dutchy_ couldn't be together for this momentous occasion. I'll try not to get in the way anymore."

"You're camping, Andy," Spencer said, exasperated. He got into the boat and stood with his hands on his hips, but looked sorry for his previous comment. "You should be hiking, fishing, playing games, getting high on the mountain trails from the lack of oxygen. But no! If it were up to you, you'd stay in the tent all day playing your damned guitar… wait a minute, what's that?"

Andrew stepped in front of a bundle on the ground beside his backpack. "Nothing."

"Is that what I think it is?"

"No."

"Well, you're not playing it on the boat," Spencer said, taking a seat.

"I'll do whatever I damn well please, thanks. I'm doing this as a favor to you, after all." Andrew grabbed his backpack and the guitar, trudged through the muck that clung to his flip-flops, and hesitantly stepped into the boat. It quivered unsteadily beneath his weight, and he sat down with a thump, zipping up his lifejacket.

"Spence! This thing is wobbling," he noted with alarm.

"Yeah, well, that's what boats tend to do in the water." Spencer seemed to be fighting back another laugh. "Ya see, liquid is not like mass, which is solid. Water is—"

"I know what water is! Let's get a God-damned move-on!" Andrew narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms, looking not unlike a five-year-old. He stomped on an ant beside his foot. Spencer smiled slightly as he picked up the oars and began to row.

* * *

Andrew's thumb grazed lazily over the guitar strings, twanging with a pleasant, tinkling air. The only other sound was the steady noise of the oars slapping upon the water, propelling them closer to the center of the lake.

"'S farther out than I remembered," Spencer muttered, eyeing Andrew with irritation. He wiped the sweat from his brow and nudged his glasses up off the tip of his nose.

Andrew tilted his head back and closed his eyes, basking in the warmth of the sun. "Y'know, this actually ain't so bad." He formed a few chords and sang a little off-key. "Yes, I guess, there's this guy with specs, he wears them and he swears by them and often wears a vest…"

"Ugh." Spencer began rowing a little faster than necessary.

"I, yes I, am one hell of a guy, I sure don't like fishing and I cannot tell a lie, but Spence, with Specs, he just had to protest, so he dragged me out here on a boat and now I am a mess—"

"Alright, that's enough!" Spencer interrupted, shoving the oars at him. "It's your damned turn."

Andrew shrugged and set down the acoustic instrument gently in its case. "That's funny, girls usually go nuts when I serenade 'em…"

"In case you didn't notice, I ain't no girl," Spencer snapped. "Maybe you're the one who needs glasses."

There were too many responses that arose in Andrew's mind for him to say a single one, so he settled on rowing instead. They were warm and a little sweaty from Spencer's hands. "How much farther should we go out?"

"Just a little more, really," Spencer answered, calming down. He glanced around and kicked his feet up on the edge of the boat. The seats didn't have backs to them, so they sat facing each other, leaning against the backpacks and coolers for support. "The center of the lake is where all the fish are."

"I betcha there's nothing but old license plates and beer cans down there."

"That's not true. I've fished in this lake every year since I was a kid."

"Aw, that's a little sad."

Spencer frowned. "It's the only thing my dad ever does with me."

Andrew bit his lip and said nothing. He grunted as he pushed the oars through the water. "This is tougher than I thought."

"Like I said, I've got two strong arms," Spence said, wiping his glasses on his Smiths T-shirt. Andrew looked at him and chuckled. "What's so funny?"

"Yankees on your hat and The Smiths on your shirt. A jock who cries himself to sleep – that's funny."

Spencer shook his head. "Whatever. I totally heard The Cure blasting from your headphones the other day."

Andrew snorted but felt a burning in his cheeks. He didn't realize anyone knew about that, because he'd always done what he could to keep it a secret. Sure, if you like 60s or 70s rock, you're cool and it's perfectly acceptable. Tony would play some Rolling Stones or Beatles tunes with his harmonica and the girls would cozy up to him, so Andrew learned to play a few Who songs on his guitar for just such an occasion. It wasn't particularly interesting to him, but it was better than the alternative; listen to 80s angst or a little emo now and then, and suddenly you look gay.

Unfortunately, he still hadn't caught many girls with his guitar, and even fewer girls that intrigued him. He figured he'd catch about as many fish today. "So why's this boat called Nadine, anyway?"

"Eh, it's named after my mom."

Andrew laughed uncontrollably. "Your _mom_? What is that, a joke?"

"No," Spencer snapped, rolling his eyes. "My parents had their first date on this boat, and, well…"

"How romantic! What did your dad do to propose? Cut open a fish and pry the ring out?"

"That's very witty, Andy."

"Did they marry at the supermarket? Have their honeymoon on a bed of ice? I bet your dad is two bucks per pound—"

"Jesus, don't even go there—"

"You know what they say about women and that fish smell—"

"ENOUGH!" Spencer kicked Andrew in the chest, who stopped laughing abruptly. "I mean, you've gone far enough," he said, composing himself. "We're in the middle of the lake now."

Andrew stopped rowing, wiped the footprint off his life jacket and shrugged. "Some people just can't take a joke."

"Alright," Spence said, picking up a fishing rod and ignoring Andrew's comment. "Grab some bait and have at."

Andrew held the second pole and stared at it for a moment. It might as well have been speaking Italian to him, because he sure as hell couldn't understand it. He watched Spencer carefully hook a worm on the end of his, wind it up, and do a lot of other things Andrew didn't quite grasp. Then he let it fly, the line plopping into the water with a few rings rippling peacefully around it. Easy.

"Well? Whaddya waiting for?" he asked, glancing at Andrew and clearly enjoying how clueless he looked.

"I'm going, I'm going." Andrew dipped his hand into the bag and took out a worm with disgust. It wriggled in his hand helplessly, and he felt a twinge of guilt stabbing it with the hook. Unsure of what else to do, he whipped the rod around and sent the line soaring, almost hitting Spencer in the face as he did so.

"Jesus! You nearly took my eye out!" he gasped, adjusting his glasses nervously.

"Er, sorry," Andrew muttered, grinning. "Few people know it, but that's how Ben lost his—" He stopped himself, ashamed by the tactless joke.

"Dude, that is seriously not cool." They chuckled uncomfortably to keep a silence from settling.

"So… what're Ben and Milo doing today?" Andrew asked, changing the subject. "I know the others are going into town - except Dutchy, of course."

"They're looking after Dani, actually. Milo felt bad for him, and y'know how he and Ben are inseparable."

"Yeah, it's kinda weird."

Spencer shrugged. "Why's it weird? They're best friends. We've all got best friends, y'know? Jack and David, Tony and Sean, me and Dani…"

Andrew frowned and stared at the water. "Yeah, I guess you'd be having a lot more fun if _Dutchy_ was here."

"C'mon, that's not what I meant," Spencer said, a hint of an apology in his voice. He playfully hit Andrew's shoulder, but there was no reaction. Spencer frowned too, furrowing his eyebrows and adjusting the tension on his line.

Andrew looked around. He had to admit it was really beautiful here. Everything was in shades of green and blue, the lake perfectly mirroring the surrounding land and sky. The only other people around were two or three elderly men, fishing on the shore. It was especially quiet, he noticed, without the usual noise of the wind rustling through the leaves.

"Ya ever think… Ben and Milo are more than friends?" he asked quietly.

"I dunno." Spencer turned to face him. "Would that bother you?"

He thought about that. "It might."

"Then don't think about it, and there shouldn't be a problem." That statement surprised Andrew, but he said nothing.

He shifted in his seat, causing the whole boat to quiver. Freezing instantly, he grabbed the edge with one hand. Spencer glanced at him.

"Relax, it ain't gonna tip over," he said. Andrew continued clinging to the side of the boat, and realization crossed Spencer's face. "Andy… can you swim?"

He coughed nervously. "What? Of course I can swim." Spence stared at him. "I mean, I can doggie-paddle." Another pause. "I can keep afloat, okay? God, some of us grew up as indoor kids. So sue me!"

"That explains the lifejacket," Spencer said with a grin. "I'll do my best to save you if we go under."

Andrew rolled his eyes. "Cute, very cute. Sorry I'm not a _jock_ like you."

Spence raised an eyebrow. "I'm not a jock."

"Baseball team, tennis team, basketball and fishing for fun…"

"So I like sports. I'm a _guy_. What're you?"

"I'm an artist!" Andrew said defensively. "I make music."

Spencer snorted. "Well, so does Tony, but he got a summer job at the stables and taught Sean how to golf the other day. You can have multiple hobbies, y'know."

"Look, I'll throw a Frisbee, toss around a hackey-sack, play ping-pong and go bowling once in awhile. Other than that, I find fun in other areas than stupid games and boring recreational activities like… _fishing_."

"Well, somebody's superior."

"You know it's true. Personally, I think all of these sports are just ways for you to avoid the real world."

Spencer laughed. "Sure, it's not the other way around. You, constantly sitting inside and making excuses not to hang out with other human beings, are far more grounded than I, with my numerous social events and part-time jobs."

"Yeah? When was the last time you went on a _date_, Spence?"

The bespectacled boy said nothing, just pulled his hat down low over his eyes. Andrew immediately felt sorry, but he didn't know what to say.

"Um, I just ask, 'cause…" He struggled for a way to turn this around. "I wanted advice?"

Spence cut him a look. "Advice?"

"Uh, yeah." Andrew chewed on his tongue and did some quick thinking. "See, I wanted to know if… if girls really dig sports, 'cause this music thing isn't getting me very far. Maybe you're right, maybe I should take up some new hobbies, y'know?"

Spencer thought about this. "Well, yeah, I guess a lot of girls are into us jocks." He grinned. "You should come play basketball with us; we play Mondays, Wednesdays and Saturdays."

"Who's 'us'?"

"Me, Ben, Milo, Sean, Jack, Dani…"

"I didn't know you guys did that."

"You should. I've mentioned it a bunch of times."

Andrew knew this to be true, and had little interest in playing, but felt a little left out nonetheless.

"Well then, maybe I'll join you the next time you do it—" Suddenly he felt a tug on his line. "H-hey, Spence! There's something—something biting, I think!"

Spencer put down his pole and rested it against the side of the boat, suddenly alert. He quickly moved next to Andrew and started giving directions.

"Okay Andy, hold tight on the handle, don't jerk it too much, pull back gently, arch your back, don't—"

"Alright, alright, one thing at a time!"

"—Now begin pulling her in, wind back the line—"

"Wait, I don't know what—"

"Here." Spence put his arms on either side of Andrew and held the fishing rod with him, pulling it back. He could feel his skin brush against his own, smooth and warm. The contact made Andrew's body tense, and he blushed, though he wasn't sure why. Flustered, he yanked on it roughly.

"No, that's too much t—"

"It's being a little bitch! Don't worry, I got it—" He tugged on it again in the hopes that Spencer would let go, and he did. Unfortunately, he wrenched it so hard he bumped into one of the oars, and it fell into the water, sinking to the bottom of the lake.

"Fuckin' hell!" Spence shouted, ripping off his glasses, hat, shoes and socks and diving in after it. Embarrassed and looking for a distraction, Andrew continued winding back the line and, to his complete disbelief, brought in a fish. He dumped it on the floor of the boat. It was kind of scrawny, flopping around helplessly and giving its last gasp; he felt a strange mixture of shame and pride at the sight.

It died and Spencer returned to the surface, panting for air. "I can't see a fuckin' thing down there, dammit! We're down one oar."

"I caught the fish!" Andrew replied, offering a guilty smile and pointing at his prize.

Spencer looked like he could kill something, but the fish was already dead. He hauled himself out of the lake and pulled off his soaked shirt, showering the boat and Andrew with water.

Andrew let his bangs fall and cover his eyes, and secretly observed Spencer's body behind the curtain of hair. Spence was surprisingly toned for someone so lean; his chest was hard and flat, gleaming with water and sunlight, and a line of hair trailed down from his bellybutton, disappearing into his khaki shorts. His skin was tanned almost the same color as the fabric, and the muscles in his legs were curved and well defined. Andrew felt sick as a heat crept up his neck and into his face. Why the hell was he looking at Spence that way?

Andrew realized his throat was suddenly very dry. To his horror, he felt a chafing in his own shorts, and turned away blindly.

"Where's the cooler?" he asked, his voice cracking with panic. "I need something to drink!"

"It's right behind you." Spence scooped up the fish and put it into the empty cooler, smiling at the fish. "Y'know, it looks just like my first catch. How's it feel?"

Andrew whirled around, a can of beer in hand. "How's what feel! I mean, nothing! What?"

Spencer laughed uneasily. "How's it feel to catch your first fish?"

"Oh." Andrew relaxed ever so slightly and pulled the tab off the can, taking a drink. The cool, bitter liquid felt glorious going down his throat, temporarily relieving him from the increasing heat of the sun. "Feels alright, I guess. I kinda feel bad for the stupid fish."

"Well, that's understandable. You did kill it, after all." Andrew frowned, and Spence sat down again, picking up his fishing pole. He turned to look at his friend slyly. "What did you think I was asking about? That bulge in your pants?"

Andrew kicked his leg out in shock and knocked the other oar into the water, spitting out a mouth full of beer.

"Shit, no!"

"Fucking HELL!"

"What the hell is the matter with you!" the two demanded in unison. They stared at each other in disbelief and anger.

"How are we going to get back to shore?" Spence yelled.

"Why were you looking at my crotch?" Andrew shot back. Spencer laughed.

"It was a little hard to ignore."

Andrew reddened with humiliation. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, so that was just an extra fishing rod you keep tucked away as back up?"

If he hadn't been so dizzyingly furious, he might have taken that as a compliment. "It wasn't because of you, I'll tell ya that much! I was—I was thinking of this girl, and—"

"Yeah, I'm sure you were thinking of some girl you wanna lay while staring at my body, right?" He put his glasses on pointedly and narrowed his eyes at him. "Oh, I can see! A straight guy is sitting here, my mistake."

Andrew couldn't believe the audacity of what Spence was implying, and the confusion he felt at his own actions, and the fear in his stomach at what this could all mean, so he lunged at Spencer and the two tumbled against the metal floor with a bang.

"Man, am I glad you came!"

"Fuck you!" he yelled, attempting to pin Spencer's arms down. One of them got free, however, and punched Andrew squarely in the jaw. He fell back a moment and then grabbed Spencer's hair, slamming the back of his head against the bottom of the boat.

Spence blinked away the pain and kicked Andrew in the ribcage. Soon after he was greeted with a foot to his face and he responded with a knee to Andrew's stomach, overtaking him. Spence kneeled over him, panting a little but holding back from any more violence. Andrew opened his eyes hesitantly, waiting for another blow, and stared up at him.

Andrew blinked and suddenly Spence's lips were pressed against his. He would have jerked his head away if it weren't already against the floor with nowhere to go, so he had no choice but to allow it. After the initial shock wore off, he realized in a haze that he could just push Spence off of him. He put his hands against his chest in order to do this, but stopped when his palms made contact. The skin was hot and slick from the water, the muscles beneath as tough and wiry as they'd looked. Spence broke the kiss and looked down at Andrew's hands, a slight smile tugging at his mouth.

Panicked, he shoved Spence away and sat up in a hurry. "What's _going on_!" he nearly screamed.

"You tell me," was the shaky reply. They were both breathing heavily and eyeing each other with a mixture of revulsion and fascination.

"We're fucking stranded here!" was all Andrew could manage, motioning to the surrounding lake. Spence snapped out of his gaze and looked around frantically.

"I guess we'll have to swim for it," he declared, unsure of himself. He smacked an ant on his leg.

"I can't swim—I told you that!"

"Well then, uh, I'll swim and tug the boat along…"

"Hello? Do those glasses do anything for you? Do you see how fuckin' far out that shore is? You'll make it halfway and drown from exhaustion!"

"I, um…" Spencer ran his fingers through his hair and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to think.

"Oh, it doesn't matter if there's no breeze! We're in a rowboat, not a sailboat," Andrew mimicked bitterly.

"Shut it," Spence snapped, clenching his jaw.

"Hey, let's go to the center of the lake! That's where all the fish are, after all."

"Fuck off!"

"All we need are two strong arms, and you sure do have those—"

For the second time that day, Spencer's fist collided with his face. This time it really hurt, and Spence proved again that he did indeed have strength in those limbs of his.

Andrew gingerly touched the spot beneath his eye that would surely bruise by evening. He stared indignantly at him, but the punch kept him from opening his mouth again.

"Great, those old men are gone," Spencer muttered helplessly, scanning the area. "Which means we're…"

"…Alone," Andrew finished for him. Spence rubbed his face with his hands.

"I can't believe we're lost at sea… in a lake!" The cry sent birds in neighboring trees soaring into the sky.

"Here." Andrew tossed a drink to him. "This'll help, O Captain, My Captain."

"Dad would be so ashamed," was all Spence could say, cracking open the beer and downing as much as he could.

* * *

Pine trees, fresh air, alcohol, Smiths songs, good times.

Andrew strummed the guitar happily, his abandoned fishing rod resting beside him. Spencer still insisted on fishing, but was doing it half-heartedly as he sang and drank and sang some more.

"And I can't help the way that I feel… Oh yes, you can kick me—"

"And you can punch me," Andrew added.

"And you can break my face!"

"But you won't change the way I feel, 'cause—cause I love you…" Andrew trailed off, startled at the lyrics."…And is it really so strange?" Spencer finished, voice quiet. They carefully avoided each other's eyes for awhile and allowed a silence to hang over them.

Andrew put the guitar back in its case and took off his lifejacket.

"You're taking that off?"

"Well, we're already stuck out here. Drowning seems like the inevitable conclusion, so why fight it?"

"Aw, don't be such a wimp." Spence waved a hand dismissively; the booze had clearly relaxed him. "We'll figure something out."

"I bet if _Dutchy_ was here, you'd get out of this mess pretty quickly," Andrew grumbled through gritted teeth. He wasn't sure why he said it, but it pissed him off thinking of the capable, blonde-haired boy.

"If _Dani_ was here, we wouldn't be in this mess!" Spence half-yelled, tossing an empty beer can at him. "Why're you always calling him that, anyway?"

"Because he's a Nutella-eating Dutch boy."

Spencer made a face. "Whatever. But why him? Ya don't call the rest of us weird nicknames."

Andrew chuckled slightly. "Not to your faces, maybe."

"Oh yeah? And whaddya call me? Jewey?"

This time he couldn't hold back his laughter. "No, I have a little more tact than that, damn." Spencer stared at him expectantly, so he relented. "Specs. I call ya Specs. I'd think that would be self-explanatory."

"I guess Four-Eyes is too immature for you."

"Sounds more like an insult than a nickname," Andrew said.

"I dunno, I always thought it sounded kinda cool. Like I can see things other people can't." Spence wiggled his eyebrows and let out a drunken cackle. His stomach gurgled. "What's left to eat, Andy?"

Andrew glanced back at the cooler. "I dunno… we ate the sandwiches, most of the chips are gone. There are two beers left and that fish I caught."

Spence kicked his feet out like a child and slumped down in his seat. "It's been hours, and I haven't caught anything," he whined. "_And_ I got us stranded! This is the most pathetic fishing trip ever."

"Ya could always drink some more."

"Nah, I better not. I've gotta start thinking of a way to get us out of here."

"I dunno. This has been pretty fun…" Spencer looked at him in surprise. "I mean, in a really lame, what-the-hell-am-I-doing-here kinda way."

"Fun? Andy's having _fun_?"

"Hey, while we're on the topic of nicknames, y'know you're the only guy I let call me that. So don't complain."

"What? Andy?"

"Yeah. Only cute girls call me that, usually." Andrew played with the pockets of his forest green cargo shorts, fastening and unfastening the Velcro. "With the other guys it's always Andrew. Or Drew, if they _have_ to shorten it."

"Why do ya let me and not the others?"

Andrew didn't say anything for awhile. In truth, he wasn't sure why. All he knew was that Spencer was the closest friend he had in their group, and though he wasn't sure Spence felt the same way about him, he didn't mind the nickname when _he_ said it. It just… sounded better.

"Well, I'm not sayin' it bothers me. I'll quit calling you Specs if you want."

"Seeing as I never even knew about it, I don't mind."

"Fair enough."

They sat quietly, staring at the water with blank eyes. Andrew's hand brushed against Spencer's when he went to smack an ant away from his arm.

"Y'know, Andy, I…" Spencer stared at his hand, where Andrew had touched it. "I was gonna invite you to join me today even if Dani hadn't got sick. And I really _am_ glad you came."

Andrew glanced up in surprise. "Ya mean that?"

"Yeah, of course. You're one of my best friends." He crooked an eyebrow. "You know that, right?"

Andrew felt something good rise in his chest, though he couldn't quite place it. He smiled and squinted up at the sun. "Sure is hot."

Spencer smiled too. "Yeah, it must be about… two, three in the afternoon."

Sweat beaded above Andrew's lip and he wiped it off, suddenly conscious of the moisture in his underarms and the heavy stickiness of his shirt. Hesitantly, he peeled it off and let the air hit his skin without obstruction. It was still hot, but more comfortable at least. He carefully avoided looking at Spencer, not wanting to know if he was observing his body as he had done before… before the _kiss_…

"Why'd you and Maria break up?" Spence asked.

"Maria?" Andrew was tempted to look up, but didn't. "What made you ask about her? That was weeks ago."

"I dunno. Ya keep asking about how to get girls, but you had a girl. What happened?"

"I, uh, I dunno. She was just such high maintenance, y'know?" Spence shrugged. He didn't know. "Well, she was all clingy and obnoxious and I didn't have any serious feelings for her. If I don't really care for the person, then what's the point? She was pissing me off and I cut her loose. I figure love is tough enough; casual dating shouldn't be work, it should be fun."

"Has it ever been fun?" The question was so quiet Andrew almost missed it.

"Not really. Maybe I'm not seeing the right girls."

"Maybe you're not seeing the right _person_." Andrew swallowed hard and allowed his gaze to meet Spencer's. He could've been right, but that… that was a dangerous thought to consider. "Or maybe you're just 'The Boy with the Thorn in His Side'."

Andrew chuckled at the reference, and was about to relax when he realized Spencer was closer than he had been a second before. "Uh-oh, 'Bigmouth Strikes Again'," he said, attempting a smile which felt more like a grimace.

Spence reached up and pulled off Andrew's hat, letting it fall to the floor. Terrified, Andrew noticed how sharply-edged his collarbone was, and how square the outline of his jaw looked, and how heavy his eyelids were—

"'Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want'," Spence murmured in his ear, and suddenly his mouth was covering Andrew's again. But this time, this time Andrew's mouth was prepared, and his lips parted in greeting. He wasn't sure this was what he wanted, but he wasn't totally unsure, either.

Spencer pushed his body up against Andrew's, awkward hands resting on a shoulder here, a ribcage there, struggling for confidence. Andrew surprised himself when he opened his mouth wider and accepted Spence's tongue, his fingers brushing against his cheekbones in curiosity. His glasses dug against his nose, their teeth clicked together, but when Andrew felt that tongue against his he knew what had been missing with all the girls he'd ever been with.

"Ow—wait, let me take these off—" Spence put his glasses down beside them, then leaned back in to the kiss with more intensity.

A small groan escaped from Andrew's throat and he fell back, bumping into his guitar. The strings made a discordant twang and Spencer's fishing rod was knocked to the floor as he moved over Andrew's body, hands continuing their search. The feel of his hard, flat chest against his own was almost crushing, and the rapid beating of his heart did nothing to help his breathing. Hairy legs clashed and solid abs rubbed together; callused fingertips roamed through sweat-soaked hair and stomachs clenched with fear and intrigue.

A knee dug into his thigh and Andrew kicked one foot up in the air, causing his sandal to fly off into the water.

"Sorry," Spence breathed, parting the kiss.

"'S okay," Andrew mumbled. He paused, wrapped an arm around Spencer's back, and they locked mouths again. His skin was smooth and firm, not soft like a girl's, and the muscles beneath were tense and strong.

Spencer's hand cupped Andrew's jaw roughly so that his tongue could more thoroughly explore his mouth. Alarmed and aroused, Andrew's stomach writhed like the worm he had hooked earlier; he could feel the chafing in his shorts again. Spencer shifted his weight and his own excitement was made apparent. Andrew blushed as he reached down and outlined the bulge in Spence's shorts, hands shaking with interest. He spread his legs open to feel it rub against his inner thigh, vaguely wondering how far this could get on a boat with no one around, when he felt a sudden itching on his shin.

"Yerticklinme," he managed, breaking the kiss.

"W-what?" came the shaky reply. Spence grinned down at Andrew, a flash of light in his eyes.

"You're tickling me," he repeated. Spence looked confused, and glanced down at where Andrew was indicating.

"I'm… not doing anything."

Reluctantly, Andrew sat up and saw several ants crawling up his leg. He wiped them away, and noticed that there were many more working up the seat to where they were sprawled. Spence put his glasses back on.

"Uh—" Both of them noticed it immediately.

The entire bottom of the boat was swarming with ants.

They seemed to be coming out of a hole beneath one of the seats. The amount was increasing at a rapid rate, and both boys panicked at the site. It was like something out of a horror movie.

"This is like something out of a horror movie!" Andrew yelled, voice surprisingly shrill. Spence's face contorted into a look of alarm and disgust.

"We've gotta get the hell out of here! Look at how many there are—Jesus!"

At least a hundred more spilled out of the hiding place. Andrew looked around quickly for something to row with, then settled on his guitar. He caught Spence's eyes.

"But, Andy, you'll ruin your guitar—"

"Got no choice." With that, he used the instrument as an oar, and rowed furiously from one side of the boat to the other. Water splashed and sprayed, the boat wobbled unsteadily, and ants poured over the floor, crawling up their legs with persistence. Spence swatted them away again and again, but it was a futile effort.

"This shit is crazy!" Andrew panted, afraid to look down. "What the _hell_ could be causing this?"

"I guess that was what my dad meant when he said, 'Watch out for ants.'"

"Gee, _ya think_?"

"Hey, it was really cryptic! How was I supposed to know what he was talking about?"

"I dunno, did he mention old food or something caught under the seat?" Andrew yanked the guitar out of the water and used it to gesture at an ancient, rotten sandwich wedged in the corner of the boat. It was black with ants and had been eaten down to a small size. Spence slapped his forehead.

"Shit. That would explain it. How did I not notice that sooner?"

"And why the hell didn't your dad get rid of it if he knew there would be ants!" Andrew yelled.

"Since when has the guy done anything right?" Spence mumbled, embarrassed. "Here, I'll take over." He grabbed the guitar and continued their quick return to shore.

They got there faster than seemed possible and leapt out of the boat with repulsion. They brushed away any remaining ants, snatched up their belongings – Andrew clutching his waterlogged guitar and limping due to his lost flip-flop – and ran back to the campsite.

As the tents came into view, Dani, Milo and Ben waved and smiled from their seats around a small fire. The two slowed their pace, struggling with the weight of their belongings, their noticeable lack of clothes, and the mixture of confusion and stimulation they were still feeling.

"They sure are gonna be confused when they see we've only got one fish," Spence chuckled. "But they should like the ant story."

Andrew cleared his throat loud enough so only Spence could hear it.

"Um… what are we gonna do about this?"

Spence looked at him and almost came to a stop. "This… this will change things, y'know." He sighed. "We'll deal with it when the trip is over. I think for now it's best we bury it in the lake."

Now Andrew actually came to a stop. His heart was beating faster than he would have liked. "But… but we will—talk about it? After the trip is over, right?" Spencer turned around and stared at him, a grin spreading across his face.

"What do you mean, exactly?"

"Well, um…" Andrew furrowed his eyebrows and stared at his mud-caked feet. "You, and I… that was—that was _something_, right?"

"I've never done that before," Spence admitted.

"Well, me neither!" he almost shouted. He glanced around anxiously and whispered, "Me neither, but I know that I…" He silently fought for the words he wanted.

"Yeah, Andy?"

Looking at Spencer's hands hooked around the straps of his backpack (they were hooked around _me_), the sunlight reflecting off his glasses (damn things dug into my face), his eyebrows knitted together as he waited for a response (always concerned, always patient), his wet hair matted down against his forehead (wet because of how awkward I am)… Andrew found he knew what to say. "I liked it, because it was with you, Spence."

Spencer's smile broadened. He continued walking, and Andrew picked up the pace behind him, realizing he'd been understood. After a moment, Spence threw an arm around his friend's shoulder fondly, and they both laughed at the knowledge that, though there was only one fish in their cooler, they'd caught something irreplaceable.

* * *

_Author's Note: This was written for Signpost's "A Day in the Sun" challenge. My first time writing modern day, slash, AND fluff! Hella fun to write Spittery again. Hope you enjoyed it!_

_Skittery's song early in the story was written to the tune of "Everyday I Love You Less and Less" by Kaiser Chiefs. Sing along if you like! And I don't know why I had so many Smiths references here. I'm not even that familiar with the band (although I like what I've heard), yet somehow I could easily picture the two being big fans. And the titles were so applicable to the situation, it was eerie. -shrug-_

_Oh, and the whole boat-swarming-with-ants bit is something that actually happened to a friend and me. No exaggeration. We were out rowing on my relatives' lake, got as far out as we could get, and suddenly they just **poured** out from God knows where, on the floor and up our legs. It was horrible – I have no idea how it happened (I made up the sandwich bit because TSB thought there should be some explanation, and I agreed), but it seriously was like something from a horror movie. Just thought I'd share the love with two of my favorite characters. ;)_


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